


Do your worst, Nate had said

by Misses_B



Category: Leverage
Genre: Eliot Spencer Whump, Episode: s04e06 The Carnival Job, Hurt Eliot Spencer, Hurt/Comfort, Protective Team
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-14
Updated: 2020-12-14
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:14:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28071549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misses_B/pseuds/Misses_B
Summary: He had done his worst, and now he needed some help.Or: Nurse Gaile only existed on TV
Comments: 10
Kudos: 71





	Do your worst, Nate had said

**Author's Note:**

> After I've posted this story, I discovered that eringiles wrote a similar story some months ago (Smoke and Mirrors). I remember that I've read her story then and somehow it stuck in my mind. I promise that it wasn't my intention to copy her, not least since her story is much much better than mine. So kudos to her this way. I hope you can forgive me.

Do your worst, Nate had said

Step by step, one foot in front of the other, Eliot had made it to the van under his own steam. There he stood now, his left hand braced at the van, his forehead leaning at the cool metal.The side door was closed, and Eliot's body seemed to have forgotten what to do to open the door. He knew if he made one more move now, any move at all, he would simply collapse.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Nate. Without much ado, the man slid under Eliot's less injured side and supported him. Hardison had climbed into the van meanwhile by the other side and opened the sliding door for him. Now he waited in front of the back seat, one hand outstretched towards Eliot. Motionless, Eliot stood in front of the open door. He knew he should do something now. He just didn't remember what it was.

"Your foot," Nate prompted softly.

Eliot frowned.

"Lift your foot. Hardison will help you in. Don't worry, I've got you."

Hesitantly and as if in slow motion, Eliot lifted his left foot. Just a little, but not enough. His other knee was twisted and hurt like hell when he put weight on it. To prevent him from falling, Eliot quickly put his foot back down. But Nate held him, carrying the other man's full weight on his shoulders.

On the second attempt, Eliot managed to put his foot into the van. Hardison grabbed his right arm, careful trying not to cause him more pain. Unsuccessfully. It felt to Eliot as if he was being torn apart. He couldn't stop a deep groan slipping through his clenched teeth. Finally, somehow, and after various suppressed curses, Eliot sat in the van, breathing heavily. Every muscle ached and his head was pounding. He didn't care where he was, he didn't care who was with him, he just wanted to be left alone.

Meanwhile Nate had closed the door from the outside and climbed into the driver's seat. He started the engine and turned back once again.

"Eliot?" He asked.

As if through a mist, Eliot thought he heard his name. He opened his eyes a crack and looked in Nate's direction.

"Hospital?" Nate asked.

Barely visible, Eliot shook his head. Anything but that. Hectic, questions, bright lights, noise, and medication he didn't want - no. What he needed, he had in his apartment. He would be fine.

Nate looked at him worriedly for a moment, then exchanged a glance with Hardison who just shrugged, and sighing he turned again to drive off. Sophie put her hand on his arm. "We'll fix him up," she said, smiling encouragingly at him.

The ride was quiet and relatively uneventful. Eliot held himself upright with all his might and only moaned occasionally when Nate went around a bend or had to brake. Hardison watched him warily, ready to prop him up if he fainted. Parker refrained from nudging him - she could tell how bad he was feeling. And Nate kept casting worried glances through the rearview mirror to the back. Hardly anyone said anything.

When the van stopped in front of the Leverage headquarters, Parker was the first to scurry up the stairs to their apartments. She seemed to know where she was going. Hoisting Eliot out of the van and up the stairs was as difficult as getting him into the van. Nate and Hardison supported him and Sophie held the doors open for them. Slowly he put one foot in front of the other. Nate stopped after a few metres, giving him time to take a breath.

"Stairs," he said in Eliot's ear.

The hitter raised his head. The stairs to the upper floor were not that high, but to him they seemed like Mt Everest.

"Elevator," he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Huh?"

"Next quarters. Not. Without. An elevator."

Compassionately, Nate patted him on the back and readjusted Eliot's weight on his shoulder.

"Come on. Or do you want Hardison to carry you up?"

"Don't you dare!" rumbled Eliot in Hardison's direction, who couldn't help grinning.

Step by step, with increasingly long pauses, Eliot struggled up the stairs. Parker was already waiting at the top. 

"Bathtub?" was all she asked. 

"The green stuff, Mama," Hardison answered her before Eliot could say anything.

"It's all ready."

Sophie exchanged astonished glances with Nate. "It's good for the bruises," Eliot muttered.

*

Fully clothed, Eliot stood in front of his filled bathtub. The mirror, fogged up by the warm water, mercifully prevented Eliot from catching a glimpse of his bruised face. But it was so clear to him what he would look like - his lower jaw ached, was probably green and blue; his left eye was already swollen shut and there were scratches on his right cheek that burned unpleasantly. And there was his bleeding nose, which made it difficult for him to breathe.  
The essential oils in his bath additive smelled alluringly and all he wanted to do was sink into the comforting warmth as he was right now. However, he doubted whether he would be able to do even that, let alone undo all the buttons on his clothes. 

For a long time he looked at his hands, at the broken skin on his swollen knuckles, at the dried blood, at the shards of glass in his right hand. With stiff and trembling fingers, he tried to unbutton his shirt.

Parker was suddenly beside him, gently taking Eliot's hands aside and silently attending to his clothes. He didn't resist, he didn't resent, he didn't even frown. She had done that for him before, whenever he had taken too much for a job.

His boxers also found their way to the other clothes on the bathroom floor - neither he nor Parker were overly sensitive about that - and Hardison stood beside him and supported him while Eliot climbed into the tub and slowly lowered himself into the steaming water. Sighing, he leaned back and closed his eyes. Hardison took a cloth and began to wash him carefully, while Parker had fetched a stool next to the tub and used tweezers to pluck the glass splinters from Eliot's hand.

When Hardison was done washing Eliot he put the flannel on the edge of the tub and left the bathroom. After a short time he returned with an ice pack, pressed it into Eliot's left hand and brought both to the left side of the man's face. Parker put the tweezers aside and gave Eliot a kiss on the forehead.

"Ten minutes," she said to him and left the bathroom. The door stayed open a little bit.

Eliot leaned back. The ice pack on his face was a bit uncomfortable, but at the same time it relieved the pressure on his swollen eye. The rest was just warmth. He never wanted to get up again, never wanted to move again. Only the coldness of the ice pack prevented him from falling asleep right here and now.

He didn't know how much time had passed when Parker and Hardison appeared in the doorway again. "Come on, man, or you'll grow webbed feet".

This time Eliot rumbled. 

"Damn it, Hardison. Let me."

"I would, bro, but the water's getting cold. Come on, let's hoist you out."

Growling, Eliot straightened up, only to sink right back down. 

"Shit."

Four hands reached for him, pulled him up, supported him, helped him out of the tub, and lowered him onto the stool where Parker had been sitting earlier. A large, soft towel was placed around his shoulders, a second on his lap. Parker began to pat his hair and back dry, and Hardison wanted to do the same to his front, but Eliot pushed him away. "Stop it. I can manage on my own."

Eliot had his pride as far as he was able to, Hardison knew that. So he left instead, and brought a pair of comfortable sweatpants and a hoodie jacket that Eliot didn't have to pull over his head. At least he allowed Hardison to help him put them on.

Eliot felt as if he was made of jello. The pain was bearable as long as he didn't move. Parker had padded and bandaged his right hand thickly with gauze pads and rubbed ointment on his bruises. It wasn't far from the bathroom to his bedroom, just a few steps, but the movements required to get Eliot off the stool and upright made him feel every punch, every kick, every twisted joint again. The few steps from the stool to the door almost ended on the floor, but Hardison was by his side. The hacker put his arm around Eliot's shoulder and accompanied him, slowly, step by step, to his bed, lowered him carefully, and helped him lie down. Without a word, Parker handed him two painkillers, which Eliot took from her and swallowed without hesitation. He hated painkillers. They made him sleepy and delayed his reactions, but now there was no danger to the team and he realised that he would not be able to sleep through the night without painkillers. And he needed the sleep to be reasonably fit again the next day.

Parker pulled the duvet up over his chest and brushed a strand of hair out of his forehead. She gave Hardison a kiss before leaving the flat. "I'll relieve you in four hours." By then Eliot had fallen asleep already.

Hardison pulled a chair from the living room into the bedroom, put his long legs on an empty spot on Eliot's bed and made himself comfortable. He would be there if Eliot needed anything.


End file.
